His Metal Skin
by superdeath
Summary: A MokubaSeto fic. Obelisk the Tormentor threatens to replace Mokuba in Seto's heart. Angsty inner monologue ensues.


His Metal Skin

Disclaimers apply, in case you actually thought I was Kazuki Takahashi.

A Mokuba/Seto fic. Slight incest.

edited and re-uploaded

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Mokuba sighed slightly, watching his brother as the other yet again slid the card inside his hands. Ever since the night when his older brother went to see Ishizu and received the card, he would contemplate it; stroking its pristine curved corners and tracing the monster drawing that adorned it with his long fingers. His brother's eyes would light up whenever he got to rubbing the card all over, messaging the thin sheet of plastic and paper in gentle circular strokes.

Mokuba, frankly, found it disturbing.

His brother's obsession with things could border on a disorder, the way he could center on achieving one thing. Seto had a habit of pig-headedly sticking to one cause, despite casualties that would occur to achieve it. Most of the time, Mokuba would hang on as tight as he could, trying his best to keep up with that bee-line to victory his brother always traversed. That determination was stifling, and the cold way he did it was morbidly graceful in its precision. His brother was a machine, but somewhere deep inside those organs-turned-metal was a beating heart. Mokuba knew this without a doubt.

Sometimes his brother would forget that he was only human, although he was much too logical for such occurrences to happen often. Besides, Mokuba was there to help his brother whenever he did happen to forget he had such a trivial thing as a human body. But today, his brother was all too human, and it had everything to do with the card he pampered in his precise, calloused hands.

Mokuba twitched, eyes traveling from the hands that were undeniably Seto's, up the black turtleneck to lie lightly on his brother's face. The blue eyes were dark with some undeniable need, some sudden want for the power the card possessed. This unbridled emotion was always perturbing to Mokuba, but not exactly unwelcome. Mokuba gladly embraced most emotion emitted from his brother, and gladly kept the emotion burning until Seto could not handle the feeling anymore, and again retreated to the cold shell that he had been molded into.

If Gozaburo had done one thing well, it was create a monster, and, sadly, Mokuba knew he would never be able to change that. No matter how much love he showered upon his brother, his brother would forever be locked up inside the mechanisms of the body constructed by Gozaburo. The best Mokuba was going to get were a few isolated moments of gentle hugs and sometimes black-tinted flames of repressed violent anger.

The anger was never acted upon him, though, and Mokuba did his best to not show fear. Causing his little brother fear and pain would only keep Seto on a closer watch of his emotions. Everyone needs to kick something some time, but Seto...he needed to tear something apart. But this unsuppressed lust that played in his brother's blue eyes chilled him; this human need for power and something more was an emotion Mokuba did not want to see.

His brother most likely saw an easy way to achieve his single goals in one fell swoop, and, being the obsessive boy that he was taught to be, he fell in love with it. He fell in love with the power that radiated from the card, the uncaring, non-living card that could grant him the power he was raised to gain. Seto was a machine, yes, a machine to gather power, grow, and consume; a monster with long fingered hands to wrap around the world and harness its money and free will. Gozaburo had made him perfect.

Trembling, Mokuba turned away from his brother, back to the blue hissing static on the television. The channel had long since stopped broadcasting shows and Mokuba should have been in bed a long time ago...but Seto had not noticed. His entire being was centered on that card, centered on the unattainable happiness it promised. Because pain was power and power was happiness. He so easily forgot about Mokuba, and Mokuba, though he would not admit it, was jealous. After the ordeal at Duelist Kingdom, Seto and he spent a lot more time together, and at times, Mokuba would watch his brother sneak him small looks, filled with the emotions that now were centered on a card. Those blue eyes would lie upon his little brother, and inside them would rise that need. A lust would glimmer, for his little brother...who promised happiness.

Obviously, Mokuba was taking too long, and Seto, being the business-made machine he was, took the quicker fix. A card could replace happiness if Mokuba could not deliver the goods. For that fact, Mokuba felt dejected. For that, he decided he did not like the card very much. Those long-fingered hands could be tracing his edges, could be stroking his features, instead of stroking the cold, smooth plastic of a card.

Mokuba whimpered softly and quickly covered his mouth, a blush tinting his cheeks. The blood spread across his face not only because he had suddenly begun to imagine non-too-brotherly forms of love, but also of the sudden weakness he exhibited. He did not wish to be fussed over, nor did he want to be ignored. A soft exhalation of breath from behind him alerted Mokuba to the end of Seto's two hour long entrancement, as if his brother had been holding his breath the entire time in amazement. Mokuba did not turn around.

"What's wrong, Mokuba?" His voice was tired, his body prone from two hours of tense concentration on the card now sitting on his desk, finally away, alone, to be ignored for this moment, "It's late."

Mokuba nodded, pulling his legs up onto the chair and wrapping his arms around his knees. The fatigue, as if cued by the absence of the card, poured into his muscles, and his head suddenly felt too heavy for his neck.

"To bed, then?" Seto asked, blue eyes traveling to the back of his brother's head, repressing the sudden urge to look over and check on the God card.

Something about the sudden change from obsessed machine into his flesh and blood brother struck a nerve in Mokuba, coupled with the late hour and the aching of his body. His eyes began to water. A lump formed in his throat sickly, and a small grimace of sadness pulled at his lips. He was going to cry, and he could not let Seto see. Mokuba nodded quickly, mustering the strength to walk down the hallway to his room. A suppressed sob forced itself from his lips instead, and his shoulders shook with the tears to come.

A quizzical noise came from the taller figure, as he finally stood and came to his little brother's side, noticing the soft sobs coming from the prison of black hair around the boy's head, "Mokuba, are you crying?"

Of course he was crying, Seto knew, but he did not understand. To cry was to be in pain, and at the moment there was no reason for tears. He kneeled in front of Mokuba and placed a hand on the other's shoulder, giving a slight squeeze. Blank blue eyes watched as the small frame trembled from the deep sobs the younger boy hid in the back of his throat. Seto frowned slightly, confused and to some extent embarrassed for his brother, but soon wrapped him in a hug and pulled him up off the seat to carry him off to bed. Mokuba turned his face away, but threw his arms around his brother's shoulders and wrapped his legs around his waist, clinging to the elder sibling as he softly wet the black shoulder of the turtleneck.

Seto froze, all too aware of the shaking form pressed against him, the small rib cage and heart reverberating in his own hollow chest. The jutting hipbones pressed into his stomach, the small hands interlocked behind his neck. With a tired grunt he fell back onto the chair, Mokuba still clinging on but now comfortably sitting in Seto's lap.

Tired, Seto tried again to talk, placing his hands on Mokuba's back, absently beginning to trace his brother's shoulder blades through his shirt, "Mokuba, it's late..."

Mokuba only cried a bit louder, arms tightening and body pressing harder into his brother's torso. He was going to lose this eventually, lose this warm form that had always been his brother... to a card, no less. His brother was going to be sucked away in a game and Mokuba would be left with nothing. His brother no longer needed him if he could find happiness through something as simple as a card.

Seto's back burned a bit from his tired muscles, and he wanted to lie down, but the near wrestle-hold on him by his brother would not allow him to move anywhere without the other. Sighing into his brother's neck, the older brother slowly slid down the back of the chair, swinging his legs over one of the arms, and laying his head on the other, all the while trying to keep Mokuba from toppling off him onto the floor. Mokuba seemed to gather himself during Seto's repositioning.

"Niisan, I love you..." It was all he could manage, as he lifted his head and moved up so that he was relatively eye level with his brother. Seto nodded, dark eyes blank but tired. So empty, so different from earlier while he stroked his card. Mokuba's face must have revealed his utter sadness when he noticed Seto's lack of caring, because Seto blinked again in confusion, arms wrapping around the waist of his little brother.

"I love you, too."

Mokuba's teeth clenched, and his eyes again watered, "Not as much as you love that card."

The words came out acidic and hateful; Seto refused to turn to look at the card on the desk...calling to him. A few moments ago it was his intention to be rid of Mokuba quickly so he could continue his silent lovemaking with the card...and the sudden truth hit him, "God, no... Mokuba, a card could never replace you,"

The other bit his lip hard, his chapped lips giving away and beads of blood forming beneath his teeth. Seto watched this, and either because of the chaotic emotions running through him, the late hour, or a combination of both, he leaned forward slowly, and trailed his tongue across Mokuba's lips. The coppery taste of his brother's blood filled his mouth; a sudden shudder from his brother reverberated in his ribcage.

His blue eyes widened when he suddenly understood what he had done, and his hands soon placed themselves on Mokuba's shoulders to push him away. Mokuba shook his head, black hair spilling over his shoulders. The gesture confused Seto, and his hands loosened their grip slightly on the cotton shoulders of his brother. This allowed Mokuba to lean in a bit more, just enough to trail his own tongue on his brother's bottom lip, up to where they opened to the hot mouth, pushing a soft pink tip into the cavern. Seto let out a quiet gasp, opening his mouth to protest, but this only allowed his brother to delve deeper. Seto's grip on his shoulders was soon forgotten.

The blush was painful and foreign on Seto's cheeks, as his little brother raised his hands to the back of his hair, pushing down into Seto's stomach with his small body. It was amazing; this arousing love that seemed to pulsate from his brother, something the card promised but could not give. Mokuba was tangible, was a living breathing body that somehow found the goodness in Seto's metal exterior.

Somewhere in that empty black hole of his chest, his heart fluttered.


End file.
